


shouldn't an old friend come through?

by telekinetics



Category: The West Wing
Genre: (not in th usual way tho), Fake/Pretend Relationship, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, also some donna/karen cahill which is niche bt they fucked and i cn prove it., its never explicitly stated tht cj knows bt cj Knows, josh is gay and he has anger issues and him and sam are FOOLS, so much repression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 16:01:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17247179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telekinetics/pseuds/telekinetics
Summary: they don’t ever really talk about this, the elephant in the room that had ordered this ruse into creation in the first place. donna’s a lot more used to herself than josh is, donna can bring herself to say things that the mere implication of is enough to make josh feel like he's on fire. he thinks about it constantly, that primal difference between them.(or, josh and donna have something in common. sam seaborn wants to know what it is.)





	shouldn't an old friend come through?

**Author's Note:**

> listen idc! this is canon  
> title comes frm "like it was" frm merrily we roll along. u shud.....listen 2 it  
> (also im watching th show fr th first time & im only on s2 so if there r any continuity errors then well aaron sorkin cn fight me)

Joshua Lyman isn’t a morning person. He can handle late nights and early days, he kind of _has_ _to_ in his line of work, but he surrenders any and all responsibility for his behavior before lunch. C.J had once said something about him being “the most obnoxious Deputy Chief of Staff any Press Secretary ever had to deal with at seven in the morning.” Josh had replied that she’d clearly never heard of Michael Deaver and that she should be glad he wasn’t on trial for perjury, because that would be a whole dilemma for her wouldn’t it? She’d smirked, and _maybe_ if it was a reasonable hour, Josh would have too. Instead, he’d remained impassive, because he isn’t a morning person. Never mind when he’s being woken up by someone banging on his door. At four in the fucking morning. Especially not then. 

He bolts upward, leaving behind whatever remnants of a dream he’d been having in his wake, and pushing off his covers, tip-toeing out into the hallway. He grabs a nearby potted plant and hoists it up with as much menace as he can muster— and, again, if it was a _reasonable hour_ , he probably wouldn’t have felt the need to bludgeon whoever it was behind the door— then, he gently turns the knob and—

“ _Donna._ ” He groans, placing the plant on the ground and rubbing the nape of his neck. “What’re you doing here?”

The woman in question merely pushes past him, shoulders rising and falling erratically. Josh closes the door and squints at her; she’s wearing a tight black dress, her hair glossier than usual. Her feet are bare. She’s holding heels in her hand. 

“Donna.” He repeats, slower this time. 

“Josh.” She says. Her voice shakes. 

“Not that I don’t look forward to it every day of my life, but this back and forth we have going on could have waited until Monday.” 

There’s a beat of silence. Donna moves deeper into his apartment, settling down at the couch, her back still pointedly to him. He eyes her, warily. 

“Donna—”

“I didn’t know where else to go.” She says, finally, and her voice lacks its usual playful musicality. She sniffs and tries to cover it up with a cough. Josh realizes that she hasn’t turned to him because, because she’s _crying_ , which makes him approximately ten times more uncomfortable than he’d been before. 

“What… happened?” He asks, feeling useless and heavy. He folds his arms, just to have something to do. He hears Donna breathe in deep, and thinks that, maybe, if he were anyone else, he would be right there on the couch with her, making an active effort to comfort her physically. The thought makes him want to run into oncoming traffic. 

“I— nothing, really,” she says, straightening slightly, and he sees the back of her hand fly up to wipe what he assumes is a stray tear. Josh clears his throat.

“Clearly it’s not nothing,” he says, forcing himself to walk over to the couch and lean his knee against the back of it, taking an awkward palm and placing it on Donna’s back. She turns around to look at him— he was right, she _is_ crying. 

“Well, I was out.” She says, motioning to her outfit. Josh stifles a snort. 

“Oh, really?” He answers dryly, because, even under emotional distress, she’s still so _Donna_.

“Mhm. And—” She pauses, looks back up at him, something soft in her eyes, something scared. She stands up from the couch and starts pacing. Josh drums his fingers on the edge of the couch’s back.

“And?”

“And, and I was with this… guy.” She says. It comes out tight. “And we were very, very drunk. And slow dancing. And then he kissed me. And I think someone there might have gotten a picture, and I don’t know if it was the press, but i-it probably was, I think that it was all planned, I—” She stops pacing, clamping a palm over her mouth. “Oh, God…”

“That’s it?”

Donna looks up at him.

“There’s one more thing.”

“Oh?”

“I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend.”

Josh freezes. 

“You, you need _what_?” He says, already shaking his head no.

“They might go the papers, Josh, this might get around and all the way back to the White House itself—”

“Donna, who’s going to care that you were out partying, you aren’t even that—” Josh stops, immediately regretting it; luckily, Donna seems to not have processed what he’d said. 

“It might get back to President Bartlet, too, and _then_ what? Oh my God, I’m gonna lose my job, I—”

“ _Donna_.” Josh says, for what feels like the hundredth time in the past twenty minutes, and walks up to her, placing his hands on her shoulders, emphatically. “I promise you that no one’s gonna care that you kissed a guy on your day off.” _And you don’t need me to be your boyfriend as a cover story_ , he wants to add, but he doesn’t want to remind her of the idea.

He half expects her to push him off and continue ranting about how, apparently, her whole life is over, but all Donna does is look at him, and look at him, and look at him. He squirms under her glance, dropping his arms back to his side.

“There’s something I didn’t,” Donna starts, closing her eyes and breathing in deeply. She looks like she’s on the verge of tears again. “There’s something I didn’t tell you.”

“...What?”

“The guy I was with, the guy that kissed me…” She swallows thickly, visibly steeling herself. Her voice is barely audible. “It wasn’t… a _guy_.”

Josh blinks. 

“What,” he echoes, dumbly, and all but watches Donna’s bravado falls away. He can feel her wanting to pull away from him, so he places his hands on her shoulders again, holding her in place. She sniffs.

“It wasn’t a guy, Josh.” She repeats. 

“It was a…” He trails off. Donna has no fucking idea just how much of the wrong guy he is for this.

“ _Girl_ , Josh. It was a girl.” She says, finally, sounding annoyed. Which, okay, that’s good, that’s progress, he can _handle_ annoyed Donna. He can pretend she’s pissed he didn’t compliment her stamp-picking skills, or some shit along those lines, instead of— instead of _this._ “And I think they got a picture of us together, I-I think she set me up.”

“Shit.” He says, because, again, he’s bad at this. The corner of Donna’s mouth quirk up, but it’s more sad than amused. 

“Yeah.” She pauses. “Which is why I need you to be my boyfriend. _Pretend_ boyfriend. If someone leaks the picture to, like, the Post or something, it won’t mean as much if I’m in a stable relationship. It could just have been a crazy night, or the vodka.” She contemplates that for a moment. “Vodka gets me pretty rowdy.”

“But it wasn’t, right? It wasn’t the vodka?” 

“No.” She says, resolutely. She looks even more annoyed than before that he asked, which, like, _excuse him_ for being fucking _thrown_ by all of this, Jesus. 

“Donna, I just don’t think I’m the right guy for this.”

“Who better? Unless you’re seeing someone already.”

“...I’m not.”

“Then who better? You already know me pretty well, we’ve built up a good rapport, it won’t be hard for people at work to believe we’re together. We can say we’ve been dating for months and were just keeping it on the down low because of me being your assistant, and everything.” Her eyes are shining with something other than tears, now. Josh feels sick to his stomach.

“I don’t know—”

“Josh, you don’t understand what this is like—”

“There’s just so much that could go wrong—”

“I could lose my _job_. This could end up reflecting badly on the White House in general.”

“And I don’t know about everyone just believing we’ve been dating for months, those people, they _know_ us—”

“Josh—”

“Donna, please, I can’t—”

“Josh, fuck, _please_ —”

“I’m gay.”

They both freeze, looking at each other, wide-eyed, like neither of them can quite believe what Josh just said. He takes a couple of steps away from her, running a hand through his hair. _Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck._

“What?” She says, quietly. Josh closes his eyes.

“I’m gay.” He repeats. This is his worst fucking nightmare 

“That’s what I thought you’d said.”

“Yeah.”

“Had to make sure.”

“Got that covered.”

He collapses onto his couch, burying his face in his hand. He’s suddenly hit with a foreign and overwhelming hatred for Donna Moss. For Washington, for Bartlet. It’s gone as quickly as it’d come. 

He feels Donna settle down next to him.

“Isn’t that more of a reason to help me?”

He looks up at her, wearily. 

“If you’re… and _I’m_.. then, well, it’ll be easier for both of us to pretend, together. Right?” She sounds desperate now. He wonders if she notices that she’s rocking back and forth slightly. She looks like she might start crying again if he says no, so—

“Fine.” He says. It feels like defeat. If this were any other time, any other argument, any other concession, Donna would have smiled gorgeously and brilliantly, and scurried out of the room— maybe she’d have thrown in a hug. Now, all she does is let out a breath and lean back against the couch. He feels something wet falling down his cheeks, and he lifts his palm up, and _ugh._ He wipes furiously at his eyes, ignoring the burning feeling in his chest, and the realization that Donna is the only person in the entire world that he has ever, _ever_ told that to, that this is one of the first times he’s ever even said that out loud.

“Fine.” He says, again. He leans back. She rests his head against his shoulder. He pretends he can’t hear her trying to quiet down her sobs. He pretends he isn’t doing the same thing. 

That’s how it starts. 

\- 

Donna sleeps on the couch that night. He gently lifts her head off his shoulder and sets it down on the armrest, ducking into his room to grab a blanket and throw it over her. Then, he promptly collapses on his bed and doesn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

He thinks it must be around eight in the morning when he hears her shuffling around in his kitchen. Josh sighs, rubs his eyes, and considers his options. He could stay in bed for the rest of his life. Take brief walks to the kitchen and live off of Cap’n Crunch. Never step foot in the West Wing ever again. Then he wouldn’t have to hear the President talk for hours on end about National Parks, or deal with Toby’s sarcasm or C.J’s exasperation at six in the goddamn morning, wouldn’t ever have to stay after hours, dozing off to Sam reading him draft upon draft of whatever speech he was working on. And he wouldn’t miss any of that. Not the way Leo would smile, solemn, whenever he watched Bartlet rouse a crowd. Or C.J doing The Jackal (well, _maybe_ he’d miss C.J doing The Jackal. Only time would tell). Or Charlie, Jesus, that kid was going to go far, or Sam. Sam, in general. Sam and his passion, Sam and his righteousness. 

Josh swallows, suddenly uncomfortable. He forces himself to get up and out of bed, ignoring the anxiety pooling in the pit of his stomach at the prospect of seeing Donna again after last night’s… _debacle._ Debacle? Events. 

“Made some toast,” Donna chirps, the minute she catches sight of him, seemingly unfazed and well-rested. 

“You know you’re off duty, right?” He reminds her. She pushes the plate of toast towards him, expectantly. Her hands are on her hips and her eyebrow’s quirked up and, despite everything, it’s all so familiar that it makes the tension in Josh’s shoulders ease. Just a little. He obliges, making a show of taking a bite.

“Did you sleep at _all_ last night?” 

“Hmph,” he says, noncommittal.

“ _I_ slept awful. You should really do something about your couch.”

“S’not like you’re meant to sleep in a couch.” 

“It should be one of its functions.” She insists, licking jam off her finger. “Could be very useful if couches doubled as beds.”

“That would be a futon, Donna.”

“Exactly!”

“I don’t have a futon, Donna.”

“You should invest in one.”

He rolls his eyes, grabbing a glass of water and downing it in one go. The cup is cool under his fingers. It’s about the only thing he can bring himself to feel right now. He sets the cup down and stifles a yawn with his fist, all the while feeling Donna’s eyes following his every move.

“You should go back to bed.” She says.

“So should you. Your own bed. At your own apartment.” 

“You just seem really tired, Josh.”

“You’re really tiring, Donna.” He says, without thinking, before closing his eyes and letting out a sigh, forcing himself to remember that this _isn’t_ their work environment, that this is entirely new territory, and comments like that won’t land as easily. She may be acting normal _now_ , but last night… He doesn’t know how to navigate this, any of this. “Sorry.” 

“Apology accepted.” She says. It’s weirdly tight. Josh opens his eyes again to find Donna fiddling with her nails. It adds on to the guilt burning in his chest. She’s really done nothing wrong, none of this is her fault, and he has to remember that. 

“Anything on the news?” He asks, and Donna’s neck snaps up. 

“No. Turns out even Satan takes Sundays off.”

Josh snorts.

“It’s eight in the morning. Give ‘em time.”

“That’s comforting, Josh, thank you.” She says, but her voice is quieter now. More meek. It’s a color he doesn’t like on her in the slightest. He places his hand over hers, mustering up as much warmth as he can. She looks up at him.

“It’ll all be okay. Okay?”

“Okay.” She agrees, the beginnings of a genuine smile painted across her lips. On impulse, Josh leans forward to press a kiss to her forehead, then he grabs the plate and turns around to face the dishwasher. He turns the tap on, letting the hot water run throughout his hands until it starts getting cold. 

“We should have a gameplan.” Donna says. He’s not sure how many minutes have gone by. 

“What?”

“If we’re gonna pretend we’re dating, we’re gonna need a gameplan.” She explains, and Josh feels his stomach drop. Oh. _Right._

“Yeah?”

“You’re gonna need to know certain things about me. And vice-versa. In case people ask.”

Josh has half a mind to say _who’s gonna care enough to ask_ , but he bites down on his bottom lip, instead. He’s not the one in danger here. She’s been taking care of him for so long, he _owes_ her this. 

“Things like?”

“Well, I was born in Minnesota. I studied at University of Wisconsin-Madison.”

“Where you dropped out to support your boyfriend halfway through.” He continues, closing the tap and drying his hands on his shirt, turning back to face her. She’s blushing, he registers, why would she be— oh. “Except, it wasn’t a _boy_ friend, was it?”

“No, uh, no. No.” She confirms, with a slight shrug. “Girlfriend. She dumped me after she graduated, and then, well— well, you know the rest. And you? Have you ever had a—”

“No.” He says, looking down at his hands. “Never. Not officially, anyway.”

“When’s the last time you went out on a proper date with a guy?”

Josh considers that.

“...College?” He says, finally. “Even then, it was all fairly casual.”

“So you’ve never been in love, then?” 

“Have you?” He counters, defensive. Donna frowns.

“Yeah. At least, I think I have.”

“With your doctor girlfriend?”

Donna nods. 

“She was special,” is all she says.

Josh wants to argue that, wants to say that she’d dumped Donna and just moved on, and how could Donna let herself fall in love with someone who could do that? And he doesn’t say it, he forces himself not to, but he thinks that, maybe, Donna sees it in his eyes anyway.

“She was special.” She repeats. Firm, unwelcoming of argument. Josh nods once, arms up in the air in surrender. 

There’s a beat of silence.

“I never said I’ve never been in love.” He says, finally. “It’s never really panned out. I’m not great at choosing people I have a chance with.”

(He thinks, idly, back to a sunny day in New York, to seeing Sam again after so long, to hearing about his engagement to Lisa, to— to feeling _awful_ about that, to _realizing_ _why_ , to telling himself he could never look Sam in the eye again because of it.)

(But _Bartlet_. He _had_ to tell Sam about Bartlet. And working on the campaign together, it didn’t help, it kind of sealed his fate in a way, and Josh had _known_ it would but, sometimes, there are things that are bigger than him. Bigger than his feelings. Bigger than the both of them.)

(He’d never asked Sam why he broke off his engagement to Lisa. He’d never had the nerve.)

“Tell me about it,” Donna says. “I’m not great at choosing people, _period_. That girl, yesterday? Definitely a spy.”

“A spy.” Josh echoes, mindlessly.

“A spy.”

She goes on after that, jabbering away about spies, and work, and her favorite color— _yellow, Josh, that might come up, it could be the deciding factor for all we know_ — and, in between it all, Josh comes to terms with the fact that maybe this might not be the end of the world, after all.

\- 

Okay, so this was gonna be the end of the world. 

“We just wanted to come clean about,” Donna pauses and grabs Josh’s hand roughly. “About our relationship.”

Bartlet looks at them. It’s Monday, Josh and Donna are in the Oval Office, and they’re _holding hands_ and _lying to the President of the United States_. Bartlet’s just looking at them. 

“Okay.” He says, slowly. “And is this going to interfere with your work?”

“No, sir.” Josh answers, pulling his hand free of Donna’s to gesticulate. “Not in the slightest.”

“It hasn’t yet!” Donna adds. She grabs Josh’s hands again and squeezes it, a warning to keep it where it is. 

“And how long has this been going on?” He thinks Bartlet’s looking bemused now. He’s not sure how to take that. 

“Four months!” Donna says, not skipping a beat. 

“Four months.” Josh repeats.

“Four months.” Bartlet nods. “Alright. Thank you for letting me know.” Josh nods. He feels like his legs are made of lead. “Is that everything?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I suggest you both get back to work.”

“...Yes, sir.”

Josh all but tugs Donna out of the Oval Office. When they’re by an empty hallway, he lets go of her hand and runs a hand through his face.

“That went well, I think.” Donna says, nodding to herself. Josh can’t bring himself to disagree with her, because she technically _isn’t_ wrong, Bartlet didn’t seem suspicious so much as he did unaffected, or even annoyed, but this all isn’t settling right with him. He never used to think of himself as a liar, so much as he… omitted the truth from time to time, and that was his _right_ because no one had any reason to know his business. It was just a lot easier to remember that when he wasn’t making being straight the forefront to his activities. 

“Do you think?” Donna asks, eyes zeroed in on him in that way she has of doing. This is all for her, he reminds himself. He has nothing at stake here. 

“Yeah.” He answers, gruff. “Yeah, I think.”

She smiles at him, pleased. They hear footsteps coming from somewhere in the hallway, and their eyes lock. Donna mouths a quick _I’m sorry_ , before she surges forward to kiss him. Rough. And closed-mouth. Which would make Josh laugh, if he were in any other context. He closes his eyes and kisses back, placing his hands on Donna’s hips. He wonders whether they look as awkward as he feels. 

“Uh?” He hears someone besides them say, and he squeezes Donna’s hip and hopes it functions as secret code for her to get _off_ of him. 

It works, and Donna pulls back, wiping her mouth in an attempt to seem surreptitious. Sam’s eyebrows have receded into his hairline. Josh wants to _scream._

“Morning, Sam.” Donna says, beaming. 

“It’s two in the afternoon.” Sam says. 

“Good afternoon, Sam.” Josh amends.

“Good afternoon, Josh?” It sounds like a question. He’s wearing that look on his face, the one where you can tell he has no idea what to make of the situation before him. Sam was never any good at keeping his heart off his sleeve. 

“We just finished telling the President about our relationship.” Donna explains, conspiratorially, looking over at Josh and placing a hand on his arm. “We wanted to… exercise our right as a free couple at the West Wing.”

“Couple.” Sam echoes. “Relationship?”

He’s looking at Josh, now, for confirmation. Josh nods, swallowing. 

“Four months.” He says, weakly.

“Four months!” Donna chirps.

“ _Four_ months?” Sam repeats, furrowing his eyebrow. “That was before… Rosslyn.”

“Right before.” Donna nods. Josh had checked out of this conversation the minute he’d seen it was Sam who’d walked in on them, and the mention of Rosslyn merely works to pull him farther away from the flow of it all. 

“Oh. Okay.” Sam says, folding his arms. “Well, Josh, I, uh. I need you? Well, _I_ don’t, _Toby_ does. He needs us both.”

“Okay.” Josh says, turning to Donna. “Bye, honey?”

“Bye.” She says, and he catches the humor in her eyes. She leans forward for a quick peck on the lips, then turns on her heel and marches down the hallway, but not before throwing a resonant “honey!” over her shoulder. Josh smirks. 

“Right. Let’s go.” Sam says, motioning towards the other side of the hallway. He’s still frowning. He doesn’t move. He’s looking at Josh like he looks at the first draft of his speeches— puzzled. And unsatisfied.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you.” Josh says, suddenly. Sam’s frown deepens. “We didn’t… Donna, she thought it would be best…”

“It’s fine.” Sam answers. Then, he gestures towards his lips. “You, uh, you got a little—”

“Hm—?”

“A little lipstick.” Josh rubs at his mouth for a moment, then looks to Sam, who chuckles, and shakes his head. He moves in closer to Josh.

“Here, let me.” Sam says, his thumb flying up to the curve of Josh’s mouth. They’re close enough that he can see Sam’s eyes in perfect detail, that he can feel Sam’s warm breath on him. They’re close enough that Josh thinks he’s going to lose his fucking mind. “Perfect. As if you hadn’t been kissed at all.”

Then he starts making his way over to Toby’s office. Josh follows him. 

(It doesn’t occur to him that Sam could have just handed Josh the handkerchief he keeps in his pocket. Or that using that instead of his thumb would have been much more effective. It doesn’t occur to him, so he doesn’t question it, and maybe that’s for the better. The natural order of things is already disrupted enough as it is.)

 

\- 

Over the course of that week Josh feels, increasingly, that he’s under a microscope. Three times Margaret wanders into his office, babbling about something or other that she swears Leo needs him to know right now— for perspective, these were always things that Leo managed to say himself a couple hours later— while probably thinking herself very clever for throwing in her own spin on the questions that had been following him around the last few days. _Are you really going out with Donna? How long has it been? Is it smart to be sleeping with your assistant?_

“People are insufferable, so it turns out.” Josh huffs, when Donna strides into his office and sets a cup of coffee down at his desk.

“Josh, I need you to promise me that you won’t let this affect your blind optimism for the common man.”

“The worst part about this is having to talk to you more,” he says, but there’s no heat behind it. He takes a swig of coffee and winces as it burns his tongue. “I hope you know that.”

“Love you too.” Donna pauses. “Wait. Is four months too soon for that?”

Josh, despite, or, maybe _because_ of the absurdity of it all, finds himself smiling at that.

Most of the Senior Staff doesn’t really care as much anymore by the next Monday, and Josh would be lying if he said that he was paying attention to anybody else’s thoughts on this. C.J snorts when she sees them in the halls and Toby frowns, but none of them really actively give a shit. 

(Sam just seems disbelieving, something Josh isn’t sure how to take. He makes a resolution to not let himself think about it.)

He’s reminded of their original dilemma— Donna and the picture, Donna and the kiss, Donna and the _girl_ — when C.J knocks on his door the following Tuesday, smirking slightly. Josh looks up at her, eyebrow cocked.

“What do you know about your girlfriend’s partying habits?” She asks, bemused, and Josh straightens, trying to remember the hypothetical situations him and Donna had talked through in preparation for this.

“Girls just wanna have fun?” He quips. C.J snorts.

“Got a tip from the press.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Real interesting. Came with a picture and everything.”

“Let me guess: Donna, a sleazy club, and too much vodka.” 

“You left something out.”

“She was drunk, C.J, she told me about it.” Josh shrugs, easily. C.J frowns.

“She tell you who she was kissing?”

“Mhm.”

“So she _said_ the words ‘I kissed the most influential columnist from the New York Times?”

There’s a beat of silence as C.J’s words sink in.

“She,” Josh starts, then scoffs. “She kissed Karen Cahill?”

“She _sure_ did.” C.J confirms. “At least now we know why Sam fell short of impressive for her.”

“He’ll be relieved.” Josh says, absentmindedly. Karen _fucking_ Cahill. Jesus, how much game did Donna _have_? He folds his arms. “Wait, so what does that mean, story wise? Whoever snapped a picture had to have been from the Times. There’s no way Cahill would let that story run.”

“You’re right. Which is why the reporter gave _me_ the tip. He was young, new hire. Didn’t wanna evoke the wrath of Karen Cahill, probably, but thought that telling Bartlet’s Press Secretary that the White House Deputy Chief of Staff’s assistant was making out with his boss would help him climb up a few rungs in the ladder.” 

“...It won’t, right?” Josh asks. C.J gives him a pointed look. She wouldn’t do that to Donna, to Cahill, to _anyone_. Josh is suddenly reminded of the overwhelming respect he has for her, and makes a quiet promise to try harder to stop forgetting it. And he knows, deep down, that if he was in a position to… to _tell_ anybody, on his own terms, that he was gay, he could tell C.J. He could tell C.J and the universe wouldn’t blow up. He could tell C.J and the sun would rise again the next morning.

He won’t, of course, but it’s nice to know that he could.

“Is that why you two decided to go public with your relationship?” She asks, peering down at him over her glasses. Josh is abruptly pulled back into the person he’s pretending to be. He nods, chewing on the end of his pen. 

“And, obviously, we felt stable enough to tell everyone.”

“Right,” C.J says, her eyebrow raised. “Right. Well. Mazel Tov.”

“That’s really not the right use of that at all—”

“Tell your girl she’s in the clear. You both are.”

With that, she winks at him and walks out of the room. Josh leans back into his chair and sighs, eyes drifting up to the ceiling. It’s good that Donna doesn’t have to worry about any of this anymore, he’s happy for her, he just also wishes he’d known before how this all would have ended up unraveling— or, rather, how it specifically didn’t. 

He has half a mind to call Donna over so they can talk about where to go from here, he _doubts_ she’ll just let him end it all right now, when in walks the complete opposite of who Josh was hoping for. 

“Sam.” He says. Sam smiles politely, thumbing at his tie for a second, before he closes the door, grabs the chair and pulls it up to the front of desk, and sits down. “Something the matter?”

“No, no.” Sam says. And doesn’t elaborate. 

“Just enjoying the view?”

“What?” He sits up straighter, faltering slightly. Josh raises his eyebrow, gestures vaguely, and hopes it gets his point across. “Oh! Just. I was wondering something.”

“You were wondering…” Josh pushes, praying that it’s enough to get Sam to voice his first complete thought of the day.

“Yes, yes, I was, I—” Sam pauses, rubbing the nape of his neck. He’s nervous. Josh doesn’t _like_ nervous Sam. “You and Donna.”

“What about me and Donna?” He asks, something defensive creeping into his tone. Sam frowns. 

“Well, just…”

“ _What_ , Sam?”

“Is it real?” He says, finally, _bluntly_ , and Josh wonders, idly, where the nearest window is and just how damaging it would be for the Administration if he jumped out of it. 

“What do you mean? ‘Course it’s real.”

“But you never said anything.”

“I don’t tell you everything, Sam.” He answers, sharply. Sam’s frown deepens, as if the concept alone is absurd, and _God_ , he’s so fucking cocky sometimes. Josh wants to hate him. Josh knows he can’t. 

“I just, I don’t know why you wouldn’t— if it’s so important to you, why you wouldn’t just—”

“I don’t tell you everything, Sam.” He repeats. He feels oddly calm for the situation. He also feels like he can’t breathe. 

“You used to.” Sam says. And it’s not like how most people would say it, no— most people would mutter, would roll their eyes and _mutter_ , would play it rougher, more sarcastic, at least, that’s what _Josh_ would do, but Sam. No. Sam speaks clearly, directly. Sam’s looking right at him. And he isn’t frowning anymore. He’s just looking at him. Josh wants, _needs_ to know what he sees.

“Sam—”

“You used to. At least, during the campaign you used to.”

Josh pauses, and, suddenly, he knows _exactly_ what this is about and, yeah, no, this isn’t a conversation he trusts himself to have. He grabs a post-it from his desk.

“What are you doing?”

“Leaving a reminder for myself. I need to tell Leo that I want a new office with windows that aren’t bolted shut.”

“Why?”

“So I can throw myself down four stories.” 

“ _Josh_ —”

“Why do you care? About me and Donna? Who _cares_ if we’re together? ‘Is it real,’ what are you even talking ab—”

“Do you love her?” Sam cuts him off. Josh is pretty sure he’s gonna start screaming and never, ever stop. 

“What?” He asks, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Do you. Love her.” Sam repeats, slower this time around. Josh rolls his eyes.

“It’s been four months, I, I don’t know.”

“You’ve known her longer than four months.”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“You’ve known her since the campaign.”

“What is it with you and the campaign today?”

“Have you loved her since then?”

“You’re a pain in the ass, did you know that?”

“Did you think about her while we were stationed in New Hampshire? Did you think about her while we were out there getting an economics professor elected?”

“Sam, seriously, this is ridic—”

“Did you think about her while you were kissing me?”

Josh stops. Puts his hands down. Looks Sam directly in the eye. He doesn’t want to talk about this. He’s never once wanted to talk about this, but if Sam’s going to _fucking_ push, then—

“Were you thinking about Lisa?”

Sam scoffs.

“I _left_ Lisa for Bartlet, no, I wasn’t.” He folds his arms. “I didn’t even think about Lisa when I was _with_ Lisa.”

“Sounds like the key to a happy marriage.”

“I feel like that joke doesn’t land as well when I recognized that it wasn’t.”

“I’m not sure why we’re having this conversation, Sam.” Josh says, gritting his teeth.

“We never did before.” Sam shrugs, simply. 

“If you left Lisa for Bartlet, maybe you should have been hooking up with Bartlet.” Josh says, in a weak attempt to lighten the mood. The corners of Sam’s lips lift, but it’s forced. He can tell. He hates that he can tell. 

“If you liked Donna so much during the campaign, maybe you should have been hooking up with her during the campaign.”

“Jesus Christ, I didn’t like her during the campaign, I— I don’t have to _explain myself_ to you, Sam. Even if I _did_ like her during the campaign, what does that matter, you’re the one who decided to—” Josh stops. _End it_ , he wants to finish, he wants to _scream_ it, let Sam know just how fucking badly that had hurt, that courteous little nod he’d given him the day after the election as he said that they should “stop seeing each other before it got too complicated,” when for the first time in his life Josh had been _begging_ for complicated. 

“I just wish you’d told me.” Sam says, but it’s less entitled now, more quiet, more revealing, and Josh swallows, thickly. _I wish I’d had the incentive to._ He doesn’t look back up at Sam, keeping his eyes fixed on the cuff of his shirt. Sam gets up. Sam walks away. Sam leaves him alone. 

Josh, for the second time in their convoluted history, doesn’t stop him. 

\- 

The following month is rough, to say the least. Josh doesn’t know how to confront the situation, not when Sam’s the one who changed the game, so he makes a plea to himself to not give in. This one time, he won’t let Sam get to him. He has nothing to apologize for. He’s done nothing wrong. 

(He would bet money Sam’s come to the same conclusion. It makes him wanna punch a wall.)

This, of course, manifests in monosyllables, an even shorter temper, and an underlying tension throughout the whole of the Wing. Sam, he notices, is louder, more quick to anger, getting into screaming matches with Toby at the drop of a hat. Josh— in a move that looks and feels alien— sinks into himself. If Sam’s in a room, he doesn’t talk to him of his own volition, and if he’s _forced_ to talk to him, then they end up bickering. And he isn’t dumb, he knows everybody else can tell they’re in a fight— if you could even call it that, Josh doesn’t really know _what_ they’re doing— but they all, for the first time, have the good enough sense to leave them alone. He catches Leo shaking his head at them, he meets C.J’s concerned eyes, hell, he even gets a pointed look from the _President_ during a meeting at one point, but there’s no follow up. 

“So, now that we’ve been dating five months, are you gonna tell me what’s going on with you and Sam?”

Well. Almost no follow up. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Josh replies, taking a swig of wine. They’re in his apartment, Donna’s legs stretched out onto his lap, her back against the arm of the couch. The President’s in Spain, the workload had been low, so Josh had left the White House, Donna following suit. They’ve been doing this lately, spending more time together outside of the office. 

“You look like he killed your cat whenever he’s in the room.” 

“I don’t have a cat.”

“Right. Because Sam killed it.”

Josh cracks a small smile, at that.

“Don’t worry about it.” He says, waving her off. Donna scoffs.

“I’m your assistant. It’s my _job_ to worry about you.”

“Are we in the West Wing right now?”

“Sometimes, I feel like we never reallyleave.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

They sit together comfortably, both of them watching the television. There’s a Seinfeld rerun that starts playing when Donna speaks again.

“I called Karen Cahill.”

“You what?”

“I called Karen Cahill.” She repeats.

“Well, yeah, I _heard_ you—”

“You asked.”

“It was… _figurative_ , Donna.”

“Well. I called Karen Cahill.”

“Why?”

Donna pauses.

“She’s a good kisser.”

(They don’t ever really talk about this, the elephant in the room that had ordered this ruse into creation in the first place. Donna’s a lot more used to herself than Josh is, Donna can bring herself to say things that the mere implication of is enough to make Josh feel like he's on fire. He thinks about it constantly, that primal difference between them.)

“I thought we did this whole thing,” he gestures between them, “to distract from Karen Cahill’s kissing habits.”

“And we both decided that it would be better to keep this whole thing,” she says, mirroring him, “ _going_ , just in case anything incriminating ever happened to either of us.”

“Ever happened to _you_.” Josh corrects. “I’m careful.”

“You’re also miserable.”

“That feels like a verdict with many different factors.” He says, shifting slightly. Donna’s legs retract, and she crosses them, sitting up. He closes his eyes. He knows where she’s going with this.

“What happened with you and Sam?” She asks, softly. 

“He’s a child is what happened.” Josh mutters, rubbing his temple. “Thinks he’s the center of the world. My world, at least.”

“I mean.” Donna starts, then decides against it. He hears the implication. He doesn’t wanna deal with it.

“He’s all up in arms about me not telling him we were together.” Josh admits. “Not that we actually are, but for the sake of the conversation.”

“That’s what you’ve been fighting about for a _month_?” Donna says, disbelief— and irritation, he hears that too— coloring her tone. “You’re kidding.”

“We’re not— _fighting._ We’re _not._ I don’t wanna talk to him and he doesn’t wanna talk to me.”

“I think you both wanna talk to each other.”

“And you’d be wrong.” Josh says, finishing his drink and placing the glass on the counter. For some strange, stupid reason, he’s reminded of that day with the traumatologist, and the night three weeks before that. He clenches and unclenches his hand. He can almost feel the bandage. 

“You’ve both known each other for years. And you’re telling me that’s all there is to it? That Sam got pissed because he thinks you had a secret girlfriend you kept from him?” Donna pauses, brow furrowing. Josh squirms. He can feel her connecting the dots. “That can’t be all there is to it.”

“Hate to disappoint, but it is.”

“If that’s the issue, then you should just tell him we’re not actually together.”

Josh thinks he’d rather shoot himself.

“He’ll wanna know why we’re lying.”

“Then tell him.”

“You don’t care?”

“Do you think _he’ll_ care?” Donna snorts. Josh turns to look at her.

“What does _that_ mean?”

“He doesn’t seem very… straight, does he?”

“He had a girlfriend.”

“No, he had a call girl who he never paid and who he was friends with.”

“No— before that. He, he had a fiancé.” Josh says, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

“Well, whatever. He could be bisexual.”

“You can’t just— box people into categories.” Josh replies, primly. 

“It’s fun to speculate and I like to have fun.”

“Clearly. So you called Karen Cahill?”

“Yeah, but that isn’t what we’re talking about right now.”

“I’m not telling Sam we’re not actually dating.”

“Double negative. Also you should tell him.”

“Shut up.”

“Just give him the excuse we were gonna give the press and say this was all for security reasons. He’s reasonable, he’ll get it.” She pauses, frowning “Or do you think he’d get mad you hadn’t already told him?” 

“No, but—”

“Then the problem isn’t _really_ the lie, is it?” Donna says, pointing an accusatory finger towards him. 

“I’m going to bed.”

“It’s 11pm!”

“You’ve been drinking, take a taxi home.”

“Yes, dad.”

Josh stands up, stretching his arms out wide and yawning. Donna kicks the back of his thigh, and he turns around to glare at her. She extends an arm, which he takes, pulling her up dutifully. She smiles gently at him, hugging him tight, before peeling herself off of him and heading towards the door. 

“Donna.” He calls out, after her. She looks back at him. “Good night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Night,” she replies, turning the knob and grinning. “Honey.”

\- 

The thing about it, Josh thinks, as he’s standing outside on one of the balconies, is that he hadn’t fully realized just how ingrained into his life Sam was until they were dancing around each other like this. By the end of that month, the residue anger has, for the most part, worn away, leaving behind a Josh Lyman that feels… empty. Well. Emptier than usual. 

He hears the door open behind him, a hesitant pause before it closes again. 

“Hey.” Sam says, softly, walking up next to him. Josh holds in a sigh. 

“Hey.”

“Why aren’t you at the party?”

“I’m technically _at_ the party.” Josh points out.

“You know what I mean,” Sam says, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t know.” He answers, half truthfully. The party had felt suffocating, was the answer. But he wasn’t entirely sure why. He thinks his therapist would theorize it being something to do with the music, and the chatter, the _loudness_ in general, but Josh thinks it probably has to do a little with the man standing next to him, too. 

(Back inside, they’d all been praising him for a speech the President had delivered, crowding around Sam like he was the White House’s main attraction. Hell. He kind of was.)

(Sam had been smiling. Wide, genuine. Josh had watched him and felt like he was being kicked in the ribs.)

“Yeah,” Sam says, placing his elbows on the bannister, eyes far away as he looked over the yards. “Yeah, me either.”

Josh doesn’t look at him. He keeps his head focused forward and tries to work out why his chest is pounding and his tongue is numb. He feels useless. He isn’t mad anymore. Maybe he never reallywas. So why can’t he just _talk_?

“What’d you think of the speech?” Sam asks, and if Josh didn’t know better, he’d think he sounds almost shy. 

“It was good.” Josh answers, and it feels lame. It was better than good. It was fucking incredible. Sam was fucking incredible. “It was really, really good.”

From the corner of his eyes, Sam smiles, small. Pleased. 

“Bet it was different hearing the President say it without having been privy to my many, many drafts.”

“The comparison between the President of the United States delivering a speech and a sleep deprived White House staffer running on eight cups of coffee and willpower alone writing it _is_ very jarring.”

“He makes the words sound his own. It’s… surreal.”

“They’re your words, though. He doesn’t manage to fool me. I can always tell when they’re your words.”

Sam turns to him. 

“Really?”

Josh chances a glance over.

“Always.”

“Josh…” Sam starts, looking at him with that quiet sort of intensity he’s never known how to deal with. “I’m sorry. How I went about things, it was wrong of me to…” Sam straightens, which places a little more distance between them. “I shouldn’t have bombarded you with all of that. It wasn’t any of my business. And it wasn’t fair.”

“It wasn’t.” Josh agrees. He doesn’t know where to go from there. He can’t bring himself to say _I’m sorry I lied about Donna_ , because he would _still_ , technically, be lying about Donna. “Why were you so upset about it?”

Sam shrugs. It reads like a flinch.

“I sort of spiraled.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Why were you so upset by me being upset?”

“I just don’t understand why you had to bring the campaign into it,” Josh says, before he can stop himself. Sam looks at him, puzzled. 

“Why does it bother you that I did?” 

He scoffs, turning back to the edge of the balcony.

“It really isn’t that big of a deal that we messed around during the campaign.” Sam says, and Josh could fucking strangle him. “It was... I don’t know. Stress relief. Whatever you wanna call it. We’re grown men. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“Too late.” Josh says. He lets out a humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair. 

“What?” Sam breathes out.

“Fuck you. That’s what.” Josh says, swiveling to face him again. He can handle this anger. He needs it. He thinks he might have a breakdown without it. “You can’t just ask me if I was thinking about _Donna_ , of all people, while I was kissing _you_ and then say that the fact that we were kissing in the first place doesn’t have to mean anything. Fuck you. You don’t get a free pass like that. You can’t interrogate my having a girlfriend while saying I don’t mean anything to you.”

“I never said that.” Sam answers, quietly, fiercely. “I would never say that.”

“You just did, you—”

“I would never say you don’t mean anything to me, Josh. You mean everythingto me. You have to know that.”

Josh snorts.

“Oddly enough, I don’t.” He says. Sam’s looking at him. Sam won’t stop looking at him. “Also. Stress relief, Sam, really? I don’t think anything’s ever caused me more stress than making out with you while a bunch of political science majors sleep in the next room over.”

“Then I guess it’s good we ended it. Less stress.” Sam says, sharply. He sounds angry, which is rich. Josh raises an eyebrow.

“Let’s not forget who ended it, Sam.”

“I thought it was what you wanted, we, we weren’t in a relationship, Josh—”

“Trust me, I was aware of that.” He says. It’s cold and much more bitter than he’d thought it would be. 

“I was so _new_ to all of it. To the campaign, to, to _us_. I’d left my job, broken off my engagement— you were the first guy I ever even _did_ anything with, Josh. We had just gotten jobs at the _White House._ You’re really gonna tell me you weren’t scared?”

“I was fucking terrified. I have been fucking terrified and I will _continue_ to be fucking terrified. That fear, it isn’t over for me just because you decide to end things. That fear is practically a part of me by now, Sam. I look at you and, and I’m _scared_.” He’s yelling now, backing up into the corner. His back hits the wall. It stings, absentmindedly. “And I don’t know what to do about it, not anymore. It’s unbearable.”

Sam takes a step towards him. Then another, and another, and another. Josh wishes he could move back. A traitorous part of his brain calls him a liar. 

“Do you remember the night of the election?” Sam asks, after a moment.

“No. Did we win?” Josh deadpans. 

“We did.” Sam says. “I remember that feeling. Of winning. Everyone was losing their minds. It was the first time I saw Toby smile, I think. Leo and Bartlet were just looking at each other in wonder, I don’t think it’d hit them yet. All that we’d been working on for the past year suddenly meant so much more. We’d made it.”

“I was there, Sam.”

“I know you were. Because you were all I could think about. The minute we knew we’d won I turned to look at you and all I wanted to do was kiss you, right there, right in front of everyone. And I couldn’t do that. And it all just… hit me. How hard it would be to pretend you don’t drive me crazy. That you don’t make me stronger and smarter, that I’m not a _better man_ at your side.” He looks down at his hands. “I thought it would be easier to kill that if we weren’t… together. And then I thought, oh, he probably doesn’t even think we’re together.”

“He did.” Josh says.

“I think we may have had a communication issue.”

“Maybe.”

“I also think you should talk now.”

“Maybe.” Josh repeats. Sam rolls his eyes. “I thought you were using me to get over Lisa. And I, uh. Underestimated. How much I,” he swallows, folding his arms. “How much I liked you. So I wasn’t surprised when you ended things. I was surprised by how much it hurt. How much it still hurts.”

It’s pathetic, in comparison to Sam’s piece. Still, he think he feels some of the weight fall off his shoulders.

“I’m sorry.” Sam says. He’s still looking down. “About that. About… everything. I just really didn’t want you to be dating Donna.”

“Well,” Josh says, taking a deep breath. “You’re in luck.”

Sam’s head snaps up. Josh always forgets how blue his eyes are. 

“ _I knew it_!” 

“Oh, this is so not the time, Sam.”

“I knew it, I knew it, _I knew it_ , I—” he’s smiling from ear to ear, and Josh thinks that he should want to punch him. He doesn’t, naturally, but he still might. 

“Shut up. Please, for the love of God. Shut up.” He says, resolutely, then pulls him forward and kisses him. Sam, who is known for his incredibly speedy response rate, kisses back immediately, his arm landing on the back of Josh’s neck to pull him impossibly closer, his thumb tracing the outline of Josh’s jaw. 

Sam separates for a moment, smirking. 

“Do I kiss better than Donna?”

“I’ll throw you off this building. I swear I will.”

“I’d love to see C.J give _that_ briefing.”

Josh surprises himself by laughing at that, loudly and authentically. Sam’s eyes go a little wide, his lips twisting into a smile, before he leans in and presses a kiss to the corner of Josh’s mouth— it’s so gentle, Josh holds his breath, afraid he might ruin it somehow. 

“We should probably head back to into the party.” Sam says, against Josh’s skin. 

“Yeah, probably.” Josh says. _I love you_ , he means.

Sam pulls back, grabbing his arm and tugging him back into the room. Josh thinks he would follow him anywhere. 

 

(Later that night, Josh will look over and see Donna talking avidly to Karen Cahill. Donna will look over and see Josh leaning on Sam. 

(They’ll smile at each other. They’ll know they’re never alone.)

**Author's Note:**

> name one straight person in th bartlet administration i dare u
> 
> twitter: maryflynn (l is an uppercase i)  
> tumblr: 70srat


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